


The Morning After

by jenny_of_oldstones



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Breakfast in Bed, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-08
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-08-11 21:57:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20160745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_of_oldstones/pseuds/jenny_of_oldstones
Summary: Hawke decides to make Fenris breakfast in bed.





	The Morning After

Hawke opened his eyes and found Fenris in his bed.

His face was tucked into his pillow, his brows relaxed with sleep. His hair was a mess, and he smelled of musk and night sweat.

But he was here.

It had been a rough night. They had made their way back to Hawke’s estate after reconciling at Fenris’s mansion, jittery and nervous and unable to keep their hands off each other. There had been hushed oaths and bitter accusations. There had been whispered words of love and regret. It had been as much about pleasure as it had been about the purging of three years of pain, and Hawke had been afraid it had been too much. He had shown Fenris with everything he had that he loved him, that he wanted him, that he needed him to stay this time, and even so he drifted off fearing that when he woke it would be to find Fenris gone.

Hawke closed his eyes and opened them again. Fenris was still here. He hadn’t fled. He hadn’t left.

He reached out to touch his face, then drew his hand back. He wanted to do something for Fenris right now, but also didn’t want to wake him.

It was still full dark outside, but he can tell from the smell of the air that dawn was not far off. Carefully, he set his feet on the cold floor. He waited for Fenris to stir, but the elf’s breathing remained the same. With all the stealth of a rogue, Hawke gathered his shirt and pants and stole out of the room.

The house was dark and silent. He avoided the creaky boards on the stairs, and crept across the foyer to the garden door. The mabari raised his head from the rug with a curious whine, and Hawke shushed him.

The garden was frosty and wet with dew. Hawke’s toes turned numb as he crossed the grass to the spring house against the garden wall. He shouldered open the swollen wooden door, and stepped down into the freezing darkness. Feeling around, he found a basket of eggs, a jug of milk, another jug of cream, and a bar of butter wrapped in cheesecloth. He gathered them up into a basket, then stepped back into the garden, shoving the door closed behind him.

As he left the garden, he saw a yellow rose growing up from a bush. He twisted the stalk until it broke, then set it in the basket with the rest.

* * *

He left wet footprints on the floor as he walked down the hallway into the kitchen. It was slightly less cold here than in the rest of the house, the embers from the oven still warm from yesterday. Hawke spread his ingredients on the butcher’s block in the center of the room and considered his options.

Breakfast in bed.

It had been a long time since he’d cooked for anyone. Most of his meals he made in the field were made up of salted fish and hard tack. He suddenly wished he had paid more attention to the way Bodahn set his plates, with their folded napkins and floral arrangements.

He ran his hands through his hair. He wanted to show Fenris how much he loved him. A night of passion was one thing, but he wanted to give him more than that.

Hawke stoked a fire in the oven. Soon, the kitchen began to grow warm. He cracked the eggs in the skillet and set to scrambling them. He found a block of grey-blue cheese and crumbled some into the egg, as well as shredded oregano and basil. A few mushrooms, a slice of sausage, and he folded the omelet over, its bright yellow turning a gentle brown.

He set the omelet on a tray. That was one thing done.

He folded the bar of butter into a loaf of hard bread and shoved it in the oven. He poured the milk into two glasses, and began picking through the fruit in the bowls around the kitchen. He found two plums and polished them to a silvery sheen on his shirt. He arranged raspberries in a little blue and white porcelain bowl, and found a slightly bruised peach at the bottom of market basket. He carved out the dark spots with a knife, and arranged the bright orange slices in a circle around the omelette, garnishing the eggs with a sprig of parsley.

The loaf in the oven smelled heavenly, so he took it out and set it steaming on the side of the tray. Cutting it open with a knife, he smiled at the buttery brown crust inside.

It was perfect, but the meal needed one more thing. Something special.

Hawke dug through the kitchen, brainstorming. There were some old vegetables, some salted cod, but nothing suitable for breakfast. In the lowest drawer of the pantry, he found two chocolate coins wrapped in foil. They were leftovers from Aveline’s Wintersend party. Hawke sniffed them and found them still good.

An idea occurred to him—a memory of a food he’d had only once, at the du Montfort estate in Orlais. He broke another loaf of bread, pushed the chocolate deep inside both halves, and placed them in the oven.

The smell of melting chocolate soon wafted around the room.

Hawke rubbed his cheeks, unable to contain his smile. He couldn’t wait to see Fenris’s face. It was one thing to be ravished in bed, it was enough to have someone take the trouble to make breakfast for you. Maybe it would be enough to make him feel at home.

After a few minutes, he removed the loaf from the oven. He broke it open and tore out a lump of the gooey, chocolately center, closing his eyes as he put it in his mouth.

Heaven.

He drizzled honey over the top of the loaf and put it next to the first. Arranging the rose and a napkin in a manner he hoped was artful, he picked up the tray and carried it jingling and tinkling down the hall.

Sunlight was beginning to limn the curtains of the foyer. The mabari was up and panting at the door.

“Bodahn will let you out when he gets up,” whispered Hawke.

The mabari whined. Hawke started up the staircase, and the mabari followed him.

Hawke got to his bedroom door and took a breath. He set the tray down on the floor. The mabari nosed at it, and Hawke shoved him away. Carefully, he pulled down on the doorknob until it the jamb released. He picked up the tray, and gently opened the door.

Fenris was still asleep in the same position Hawke had left him in. Hawke couldn’t help but smile. He was so beautiful, and he deserved so much.

“Rise and shiiiiiiiiine,” sang Hawke. “I made you some—”

The mabari darted between his legs.

Hawke had in a moment as he fell to appreciate the arc of the milk as it flew into the air.

Then he hit the floor.

Plates and glasses shattered. The metal tray rang out like a cymbal against the floor. Fruit and eggs and jelly exploded, and milk splattered across the night stand and wall. The chocolate loaf rolled through dust, and plum juice began to drain through cracks in the wood. Hawke lay there on his stomach, unwilling to move.

“Hawke?” Fenris vaulted naked off the bed and knelt beside him. “Are you all right?”

Hawke grunted. His left knee was throbbing. The mabari was lapping at the milk on the floor, and the porcelain bowl was still circling the room like a lost wagon wheel. It clattered against the wardrobe and rattled for what seemed like a minute before growing still.

“I’m fine,” said Hawke. He pushed himself up gingerly. “I’m—”

“Everything all right up there?” yelled Bodahn. The dwarf was thundering up the stairs.

“Everything’s _fine_,” shouted Hawke. He sat there, rubbing his throbbing knee. “You don’t have to come in—”

The door burst open. Bodahn stood there wide-eyed. “I heard a mighty crash.” His eyes fell on Fenris. “Oh my.”

“Good morning,” said Fenris, gruffly.

Bodahn had the grace to turn his back. Fenris rose and pulled on his leggings.

“Big boom.” Sandal came into the doorway.

“It’s all right, my boy,” said Bodahn. “Messere Hawke just made a mess.”

Hawke felt a vein throb in his temple. “I can clean it up myself.”

“What happened?” Orana’s skirts rustled as she ran down the hall. “I heard that from halfway across the house. Oh.” She blushed at the sight of Fenris’s bare chest. “You’re still here!”

“Yes, he’s still here,” said Hawke, between gritted teeth. “Now if you could all—”

“What a mess,” gasped Orana. The mabari had the chocolate loaf in his mouth and was pushing against Orana’s legs, wagging his tail.

“Sandal, run and get some rags,” said Bodahn. “And whiskey. That honey’ll stick forever if we don’t wipe it up now.”

Orana was already bending down to pick up the pieces of broken porcelain. Bodahn gathered up the bits of fruit in his hand. Fenris stood nearby, looking hesitant and crowded, and slowly bent down to help them.

“_No_.” Hawke got to his feet, his knee flaring with pain. “Back to your chores, you harpies.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” said Bodahn. “You sit down and rest that knee. We’ll clean this up.”

Hawke put his hands on Bodahn’s back and tried to shove him toward the door. Unfortunately, Bodahn was sturdy as a stump, and Hawke slid off and went down on one knee, the bad knee. He groaned.

“Let me look at that,” said Orana.

Hawke kicked at her feebly. She grabbed his foot and rolled up his pants leg.

“This needs ice,” she said.

“Booze?” Sandal was back with an armful of rags and a bottle of whiskey.

“Not the good stuff, my boy," Bodahn tutted. 

“No, not the good stuff. Not any stuff. Out, damn you, out, out, out!” Hawke rose to his full height. He put a hand on Orana and Bodahn’s shoulders and shoved them from the room. Afterward, he grabbed the mabari by the scruff and shoved him out, too. He slammed the door behind them, then slouched against it, sinking slowly to the floor.

Fenris stood there in the middle of the room, smiling.

“Is it like this every morning?” asked Fenris.

“You caught us on a good day, I’m afraid.”

Fenris took in the state of the floor. The mabari had padded through the spilled milk and left pawprints all around the room. The yellow rose lay crushed and bruised in a puddle. Fenris picked it up.

“Were you bringing me breakfast?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Hawke.

“You could have told me. I would have helped you.”

“I didn’t want you to get out of bed.”

“Your plan worked excellently.”

“Yes, well.” Fenris was still smiling at him, and Hawke felt his thoughts turn to honey. It was incredible, how an elf without magic could slow down time. "I wanted to do something nice for you." 

Fenris padded up to him and brushed Hawke's face with his hand. When he pulled back, Hawke was gone, falling, through three years of memory and an imagined future that was too delicate and terrifying to touch. It made him realize that what he had wanted to do for Fenris was to make a memory—a symbol that this was the start of something new. It sent an ache through him that was hopeful and fearful all at once.

“Are you going to stay this time?” Hawke whispered.

“Yes,” said Fenris.

Fenris pulled him to his feet. He set the rose on the desk and picked up the buttered loaf of bread off the floor. He pinched off the dust bunnies and blew on it.

“You’re really going to eat that?” asked Hawke.

Fenris shrugged and pulled back the covers. They climbed into bed, pulling the bedclothes around them until they were back in their warm little cocoon. Fenris tucked himself under Hawke's arm, tearing off a piece of bread. 

“You know, this isn’t how I planned this morning to go,” said Hawke. They were getting crumbs all over the covers. Hawke found he liked that, for some reason.

“Are you complaining?” said Fenris. He placed the bread on Hawke’s lips.

Hawke stared at him. Fenris was here. They were really here, together, and neither of them was going anywhere.

“No,” he said.


End file.
